


Trialrun

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, Ficlet, M/M, Rope Bondage, Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-06
Updated: 2017-05-06
Packaged: 2018-10-28 15:45:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10834335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Jim ties Spock up for training reasons. Bones reaps the benefits.





	Trialrun

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Honeypan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Honeypan/gifts).



> A/N: Fill for ylynane’s “Naive!character A is left behind chained up by mischievous!character B. Interested!characted C comes up and enjoys […] something sexy or humorous or both with that plot [...] Spock/McCoy” request on [my tumblr](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/post/160359876015/request-naivecharacter-a-is-left-behind-chained). Whether this is Spones or actually McSpirk is up to the reader. ;P
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

There’s no logical reason for Spock to follow his captain down to the cargo bay, but he does, because Jim gives him that little _look_ that means _fall into step_. He wordlessly joins Jim in the turbolift, waits for an explanation, and gets none. The ride down is quiet, save for Jim’s obnoxious whistling, and soon they’re passing Engineering. Spock dutifully waits to hear what the end of his shift is being diverted to. The fact that Jim did wait until _after_ their shift, though the civilian transport made its delivery three hours ago, is telling.

The cargo bay is now appropriately busy, varies boxes of new equipment and personal affects littering the open space. Towering piles of new engine parts create makeshift walls, while Mr. Scott’s staff flitters in between. Jim weaves around it all, eyeing each stack they pass, until he finds a small metal box with a Federation shipping label. Jim scans the tag, plucks it up, and then glances around, ultimately diverting them over to the corner.

They have to make their way around several hurdles to reach that corner, but they do, tucked out of sight and almost sound from the rest of their staff. Hidden behind a shuttle-sized shipping crate, Jim finally turns to Spock, and he thrusts out his box.

Spock doesn’t take it, merely lifts an eyebrow. Jim has a familiar gleam in his eyes that Spock doubts bodes well for him. His eyes flicker down as Jim pops the silver lid open, displaying a folded length of black rope inside.

“Rigelian binding,” Jim boasts, as though that’s supposed to mean anything to Spock. Grinning wide, he fills in, “It’s a special kind of game for high-ranking officers with active field duty, meant to test ingenuity. It requires a certain amount of flexibility and delicacy, too. If you break them, you lose.”

“Break them?” Spock dully repeats, because he imagines he’s supposed to express interest here.

“While you break out,” Jim answers, throwing in a wink. “The object is to get yourself free, which, as I’m sure you know from all our wild run-ins, is a valuable skill for any fleet officer to have. The difference is that they come without any kind of clasp and a near frictionless surface; it’s not just struggling against knots—you have to manage around their complex fastening system. They’re also quite comfortable, so if you’re stuck in them longer than expected, it shouldn’t be too big a problem.” He ends his explanation with the proud announcement: “The last time I tried it, I escaped in under six minutes.”

As Spock’s never heard of this particular product before, he has no idea if that’s impressive or not. He has little desire to find out, but then Jim adds, “Can you?”

Spock lifts his second eyebrow.

Jim insists, “I want to test all my senior officers with it—so the next time we wind up playing hostage, we’ve got some jump on the game. Naturally, as you’re almost always by my side on away missions, you’re the best place to start. I’m sure with a bit of practice, you can even approach my time, but I’ll be impressed if you make it in fifteen.”

Spock doesn’t externally bristle at the number, but he does internally. The thought of how ridiculous this sounds dies under the mention of a practical application and is instantly forgotten at the comparison to Jim. It doesn’t surprise Spock in the least that his illustrious captain managed to escape a test of captivity, but clearly if Jim can, he can. He tells Jim bluntly, “As a Vulcan, I possess superior reflexes and dexterity. If you managed in under six minutes, I most certainly can.”

He expects Jim to come back with a challenging grin and bait him further, but instead, Jim brightens right up and chirps, “Great! Let’s try it.” And in the blink of an eye, he’s got the rope out and discarded the box onto the floor. 

The cargo bay is a highly inappropriate place for such activities, but Jim grabs Spock’s sleeve and backs him towards the wall just the same. Now shielded by the container and Jim’s body, Spock’s completely hidden from view. He still doesn’t think this is a good idea, but he seems to have trouble actually _stopping_ Jim’s nonsense, as much as he often protests it. Jim grabs each of Spock’s wrists, ignoring the ‘no touching’ rule that seems to have shattered under their friendship, and draws them behind Spock’s back. Spock allows Jim to pace around him and bind his wrists, his forearms, right up his arms and over his shoulders. Spock imagines the rope came with some specific guidelines that Jim must have memorized; he loops it expertly around Spock’s shoulders and crisscrosses it over Spock’s chest. 

Standing in the front again, Jim taps Spock on the top of the head and orders, “On your knees, please.” He smiles while he says it, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Spock opens his mouth to protest, but then the enjoyment on Jim’s face sinks in, and he obediently lowers to the floor. This is his captain, after all, and despite the roguish methods, Jim always gets there in the end. Spock does _trust_ him.

Spock’s not sure he trusts humans in general, but it’s too late now. Jim binds his thighs, ankles pulled to them, and finally brings the ends of the rope back to Spock’s hands. Spock tries to crane over his shoulder, straining to see what Jim’s doing to secure the slippery rope, but Jim says, “No peeking.” So Spock looks straight ahead again, lest he be disqualified for cheating.

The strange rope secured, Jim rises to his feet. He looks down at Spock with a bizarre sense of accomplishment, while Spock subtly tests his bonds. They aren’t particularly tight, and he doesn’t think the rope’s all that strong—he could probably break straight out of it if he had to. But he imagines that’s why Jim felt safe enough to use it on him, and he plans to get out of this the _correct_ way. It would be far more disconcerting if he weren’t confident in his quick escape.

He waits, at first, to see if Jim’s going to pull out some sort of timer, or perhaps just give a signal to start, but before he can, his communicator beeps. Jim scoops it out of his pocket, flips it open, and says, “Hello?”

 _“Captain?”_ the unmistakable voice of Lieutenant Sulu answers. _“Are we still on or...?”_

“Shit, fencing practice,” Jim swears, lowering the communicator just enough to keep Lieutenant Sulu from hearing the expletive. Clearing his throat and the dismay, Jim returns in his typical ‘captain’s voice,’ “Of course, Mr. Sulu. I’ll be right there.” He snaps the communicator shut again before Lieutenant Sulu can ask anything else and deduce that Jim’s likely forgotten. 

Jim gives Spock a mingled look of guilt and disappointment, then sighs, “I suppose you’ll have to get out of this on your own.” At Spock’s sudden frown, he adds, “Don’t worry, I trust you to tell me the right time it takes you.” That wasn’t at all what Spock doesn’t like about this, but Jim’s already turning to go, calling over his shoulder, “Don’t worry, I’ll send help—”

Spock almost shouts that under no circumstances does he want anyone else sent to see this, but by then, Jim’s too far away, and Spock doesn’t want to risk screaming and bringing all the Engineering personnel running to the sound. It’s smarter to just clamp his jaw shut and hope that Jim’s joking, like he first thought Jim was about this ‘test.’

In the meantime, Spock starts squirming. He’s subtle about it, wanting to maintain his dignity as much as possible, and he’s sure this will be an intellectual problem rather than a physical one. He tries to clear his mind of the troubling knowledge of his location and instead focuses on the layout of the ropes. He takes an inventory of each interlocking section. He tries to curl his fingers against the parts around his wrists, but he can’t quite reach them. He doesn’t know where the ends of the rope are, but obviously, locating those should be his first order of business.

He spends perhaps seven minutes alternatively twisting and thinking before realizing that he’s already taken longer than Jim claimed to have needed, and it’s very likely his captain lied to him. That knowledge makes him squirm harder, then abruptly still at the clear truth that he’s frustrated. And embarrassed. And in a very compromising position in a very public place, none of which is at all acceptable for a Starfleet officer, much less a _Vulcan_ , and if anyone else were to hear of this—

“—Damn kid with his infantile games,” someone mutters on the other side of the shipping crate, halting Spock immediately. He listens for the next words, and sure enough, a familiar voice grumbles, “I leave him alone for five minutes, and he goes and loses the hobgoblin!” Ignoring the derogatory nickname, Spock silently hopes that Dr. McCoy is complaining only to himself and no other witnesses.

He rounds the corner shortly, spots Spock down the end of it, and goes stock-still. Eyes widening, Dr. McCoy’s gaze roves up Spock’s kneeling body, still bound from head to foot, thighs slightly spread and arms pulled taut behind his back. The rope is thoroughly crisscrossed over his uniform, making a most unbecoming display, and if Spock could throw a blanket over himself, he would.

Instead, he’s forced to keep his face as neutral as he can, as though it’s perfectly logical for him to be tied up alone in the cargo bay. 

The second Dr. McCoy snaps to life, he’s storming closer. When he’s within range of a quieter tone, Spock explains, “I am undergoing a form of ingenuity testing for the captain.”

Dr. McCoy lifts both eyebrows, then slowly grins, the bemused indignation melting into a look that Spock knows all too well: smug satisfaction. Dr. McCoy’s face is entirely too expressive. But Dr. McCoy is entirely too emotional, so at least it’s consistent. 

He crosses his arms over his broad chest, does another slow sweep of Spock’s body, and then grunts, “Great. I’ll be your witness.”

Before Spock can protest, Dr. McCoy’s plopped down on the floor. It’s quite unlike him to do so so casually, but then, his penchant for irritating Spock seems to overrule all his other habits. Having been around him—and Jim and many other humans—for as long as Spock has, he can recognize the spark of interest in Dr. McCoy’s eyes, and the telling way they roam along Spock’s body. It’s all Spock can do not to let the colour rise into his cheeks; he realizes belatedly that the shapes Jim’s created along his body are perhaps a little too strategic. Each breast is framed in a diamond, the rest knotted down his stomach but bared at his crotch, and his arms tight behind him forces his chest to arch forward. He considers closing his thighs, but any movement now would seem like acknowledgement of Dr. McCoy’s lewd assumptions. So Spock stays stubbornly put. 

When it becomes clear that Spock isn’t going to be moving at all, Dr. McCoy presses, “Well? Aren’t you going to struggle?” He looks like there’s nothing he’d rather see, although Spock can’t tell if his reasons are pure mocking amusement or entirely bawdy. Spock remains still, until Dr. McCoy suggests, “Of course, if you take too long, and I’m forced to just sit here and stare at you all tied up for me, I can’t promise I’ll behave...”

Definitely blushing, Spock resumes his struggle. He tries to do it as artfully as possible, but with the pressure now on and a hungry gaze on him, it’s considerably difficult to just _think_. And he’s no longer sure that that would help. It now seems entirely possible that this was Jim’s unscrupulous plan all along, and there is no simple method of extrication. In which case Spock could still be right here when Mr. Scott’s crew finally clears away this corner—

Spock abruptly stops struggling. If there is no simple way out, he’s only wasting his energy. With a heavy frown, Spock tells Dr. McCoy, “I am perhaps in need of your assistance.” 

Dr. McCoy looks unimpressed at the ‘perhaps,’ but he still sighs, “Alright,” and leans forward. Spock waits patiently for Dr. McCoy to go around him and untie him. 

Instead, Dr. McCoy closes in on his face and presses their mouths together. A sharp burst of warmth and electric-like _connection_ sizzles through him; Spock’s breath hitches, lips slightly parting, and he’s grateful when Dr. McCoy, for once, doesn’t take advantage of the opportunity to slip his tongue inside. 

Instead, Dr. McCoy leans back again, grinning broader than ever. 

Spock tells him dryly, “That was entirely unhelpful.”

“Was it? And here I thought you were asking for some assistance with that crush you’ve clearly got.”

It takes Spock a second to place the Earth idiom, and then he levels a glare. Dr. McCoy chuckles, and Spock resumes his attempts at escape, just on the verge of straining to break the ropes. Dr. McCoy snorts, “I can’t decide if this is the hottest or dumbest thing I’ve ever seen. Maybe both.” He reaches out, fingers skimming along one of the ropes taut across Spock’s left pectoral. Spock keeps squirming, and Dr. McCoy purrs, “Although, I wish I’d known you’d agree so easily to bondage; that opens up a whole new can of possibilities...”

A grunt behind the shipping crate freezes Spock instantly, head darting towards the sound. Dr. McCoy follows the look, frowning, and Mr. Scott’s muffled voice sounds on the other side, issuing orders to a silent crewmember, likely Mr. Keenser. 

Spock instantly redoubles his efforts, and Dr. McCoy swears, “Damnit! Sorry, here—” and finally moves around Spock’s back to help.


End file.
